


Better Traditions

by alyblack



Category: Original Work
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, a girl learning to like xmas mostly, author relates, friends think it's sad, i think it's cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8980330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyblack/pseuds/alyblack
Summary: The only thing I wanted to do when I got home from my shift at the hospital on Christmas’s Eve was to take a shower, order in, cuddle in bed and watch a movie.





	

As soon as I opened my front door I was struck in the chest by the smell of gingerbread and vanilla extract. I was faced with the realization that it was that time of the year again. There was never much love going around in my house as I was growing up. During Christmas my father was usually away driving his truck to pay the bills and my mother was taking an extra shift at the dinner to help him do it. They didn’t cook for us, told us they loved us very often or even hugged us outside very special occasions; but we knew. They didn’t have to. The roof over our heads and the food at the table was proof enough and we were fine with it. It wasn’t easy going away from home, meeting other people that weren’t in the bubble of my childhood and realizing that it wasn’t like that in the other families. Some families hugged and loved and ate Christmas dinner together as a tradition and that was fine too.

When I got myself a serious boyfriend and spent my first holiday season at his house I suddenly missed my family. My sister would be sitting at the couch watching TV, the house would be quiet and my mother would call us sometime during the night to ask us if we had eaten already and to tell us that she would be home soon. I would be in my bed reading a book and thinking about going back to school. But in Michael’s house everything was different; there was music playing and lots of lights and decoration and everybody would dress up really nice clothes to sit at the table, hold each other’s hands, pray, laugh and talk and eat this gorgeous meal his mother had prepared.

When we got engaged he told us we could start doing our own little tradition for Christmas; I never really got around to tell him I wasn’t a big fan of the commemorations. He liked to cook, so when the time came I let him do it. He would cook for us just as his mother used to and as soon as I would step foot inside our little and cozy apartment, I would be surprised with a table full of food, music softly filling up the room and someone that was genuinely happy to see me. It was pleasant. And the whole time it was happening, I couldn’t hold off the feeling that I really just wished the thing could be over already. It was not his fault. He had been raised like that and for him that was the happiest time of the year; I was already keeping him away from his family, the least I could do was to try and give him a good Christmas. My heart wasn’t in it, though. The only thing I wanted to do when I got home from my shift at the hospital on Christmas’s Eve was to take a shower, order in, cuddle in bed and watch a movie.

Either way, I hummed at the music, I ate the delicious food he had prepared us, I smiled and danced with him when he offered his hand, I even prayed with him when the time was right. I did it all because our traditions were important to him, because I loved him and I knew that he loved it all. He loved that we got to do it together; that we would do it with our kids when we decided to have them. I thought that if I ever had kids I wouldn’t want them to have the same Christmas I had when I was growing up. I would want the music, the food, the love and the hugging; I would want them to have better traditions. Recalling upon me and my sister quietly hanging around in the house at the dead of night, alone and bored, it felt just like any other day; empty and lonely. I didn’t understand Christmas and that was my way, too late to be changed now. But kids were meant to be around joy and warmth, not frozen dinner and bad TV shows. Another year passed by and I once again let myself be washed over the smell of cookies and candle, preparing my best smile before walking in the kitchen to see the man I loved smearing jam into the pie he had just taken out of the oven. At the counter, near the fridge, a worn out picture of me, my sister and my parents sitting at the couch and smiling, a rarity. It was all just fine.


End file.
